


it's such a feeling

by the_maybe



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Canon Asexual Character, Gen, Hair Dyeing, M/M, basically we're all quarantined. we're all touch starved. we all dye our hair to cope, but i haven't seen it so i'm just gonna keep vibin, i have no idea if this already exists, i tried to do pure fluff and ended up with a healthy sprinkling of angst in there too, ngl that's my favorite tag, this is a universal 2020 experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27129392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_maybe/pseuds/the_maybe
Summary: "Hair dye?”“Yes, but make sure you get that exact type, I don’t want you turning my hair green, it washes me out.”-- wilde asks zolf to buy him some hair dye, it takes a while, but they get there in the end (and they love each other)--
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	it's such a feeling

**Author's Note:**

> thinking abt that time I dyed my housemate’s hair during lockdown and I was so touch starved I nearly died (so this was originally meant to be platonic bc i’m big aro, but I do ship them romantically too, so either works)  
> I actually started this WEEKS ago and was just finishing it off when Last Week happened (then i wrote another thousand words). I’ve never written anything like this and it was meant to be pure fluff, but apparently I just can’t do that? Anyway, I’m well aware this has issues, but I have so much to do, so here it is.  
> title is from _I want to hold your hand_ by the beatles because i’m basic and i stan the beatles  
> hope you enjoy, thought we could use some nice, _family-friendly zoscar, for the soul_ <3 (ace rights)

“Zolf, do you think…” Wilde trailed off.

Zolf raised his eyebrows expectantly for him to continue, but when he didn’t, he said, “Yeah, you might not know this about me,” he smirked (when had he started doing that? He decides not to examine _that_ little habit he seemed to have picked up), “but it has been known to happen.”

“No-” Wilde frowned, frustrated, “Okay, don’t- don’t laugh…”

“Can’t promise you that, Wilde,” he replied cheerfully.

Wilde rolled his eyes. “Fine, well I’ll just go then, shall I?”, he said, turning to leave.

“No! Okay, sorry- I won’t laugh,” Zolf interrupted, trying not to laugh. “I promise.”

Wilde rolled his eyes again, “Thank you. I was just going to ask if you thought you could spare a day to pick something up for me.”

“Sure, I don’t see why not,” said Zolf. “What is it? I can go in the morning if you like. Wait-” he squinted at Wilde, “why would I laugh? It’s not something…” he waved his hands vaguely in front of him, “weird, is it?”

“Weird?” He looked entertained as he mirrors Zolf’s gesture, “How so?” Wilde smirked. Zolf ignores this detail.

“I know you, Wilde, you’re up to something.”

He gasped in mock offence, hand to his chest, “You wound me, Mr Smith, what do you take me for?”

“I don’t take you for nothing,” he replied as Wilde handed him a slip of paper. “What’s -thank you- is this _hair dye?_ ”

“Yes, but make sure you get that exact type, I don’t want you turning my hair green, it washes me out,” he said, like it was nothing.

Zolf just stared for a moment, speechless, trying to unpack… all of that. Did Wilde expect _him_ to do it? _Had Wilde had had green hair before?_

“Y-yeah, alright,” he mumbled, “I’ll head off in the morning.”

“Much obliged,” said Wilde, and he walked away, leaving Zolf to spiral for the next several hours.

Barnes and Carter were away on a mission, due to return in a few days, and would need to quarantine, which neither had been particularly happy about, but Zolf wasn’t going far enough that he’d have to worry about that. He’d likely be back in about a day and the weather was good, so he packed light and headed off leaving some breakfast out for Wilde when he got up.

It just so happened that things didn’t go exactly according to plan. The weather took a nasty turn, which would have added a few hours to his journey even if he hadn’t ended up needing to help a nearby village salvaging what they could of a sizeable farmers’ market. After that, he decided to keep going, rather than spend the evening in the village. He knew Wilde would worry if he was late to return, and who would know if he kept travelling for a few hours longer than was strictly advisable into the night?

He needn’t have bothered though, as he managed to end up quarantined for a week after discovering a group of European refugees in the small nearby city that sold the dye Wilde had requested, just as he was hoping to return home. This would also mean he had to quarantine for another week as soon as he got back to the inn, but he sat tight and mentally drafted an apology to Oscar for the worry he was no doubt causing and a week later he was back in the cell under the inn, at least with his Campbell novels to keep him company this time. He didn’t see Wilde.

When his second week of quarantine was finally over and he was thoroughly bored out of his mind, he headed straight up to his room to deliver the dye, only to discover that Wilde had been sent out on a mission with Barnes a couple of days after he’d returned and their own quarantine was over. Carter wasn’t exactly terrible company, but he wasn’t really one for the paperwork, or the cleaning apparently, so it was up to Zolf to pick up on the slack (and it was good to be kept occupied while he worried).

When Oscar returned at long last, it had been over a month since they had last seen one another, and Zolf was getting antsy. He wouldn’t let Zolf see him until the end of his week in the cell except for inspections, which wasn’t unusual, but it was rare they went so long apart, Zolf realised. They hadn’t been apart for more than two weeks since they’d been working together, and he had _no strong opinions about this fact._

Wilde and Barnes were released, and Zolf was there. He smiled with relief even though he’d been telling himself it would be fine at a near-constant rate for weeks now when he definitely wasn’t thinking about the fact he hadn’t said goodbye last time they saw each other, and in the low light of the cell, it looked like Oscar smiled back, just a little. Barnes certainly did, but it wasn’t for him that Zolf’s arms twitched when he let them out. Zolf ignored it. Barnes clapped him on the shoulder and gave Carter a rough hug and Zolf didn’t think about Wilde doing the same. He didn’t think about the weight that had been lifted that had nothing to do with the extra pair of hands to sort through paperwork. 

He put the dye on Wilde’s desk a few nights later when he brought his tea. “I hope this stuff doesn’t go off; I’d hate to have to go through all that nonsense again.”

“Hm?” He looked up from his papers at the bottle, then at Zolf, then at the bottle again, with a strange expression.

“You hadn’t forgotten, had you? Or did you get cold feet about the whole thing, because to be honest, Wilde, I might be a little tiny bit cross if I had to do a double quarantine for nothing.” Zolf laughed. This did not have the desired effect (what that effect was, he couldn’t say), and Oscar bristled at the accusation.

“I… I’m very sorry, Zolf,” he said solemnly, making painfully intense and direct eye contact. Zolf was taken aback at his seriousness and struggled to hold his gaze. “I should never have asked you to go, it was irresponsible of me and it put you at risk. I hope you can forgive me.”

Zolf blinked. “It’s… alright? We’re all alright and there’s no point in beating yourself up about it now.” Oscar opened his mouth to argue, “Don’t say you weren’t, or that it really is secretly all your fault- I know you, Oscar, you don’t have to do all that with me.” He paused. “But I swear to the gods, if you don’t let me dye your hair now after all that bullshit, I might change my mind.”

The corner of Oscar’s mouth twitched (Zolf had no strong feelings about this either), “What makes you think I’d let _you_ dye _my_ hair, Mr Smith?”

“W- it’s- y- I don’t- you-” he spluttered, _how was he so flustered?_ “Piss off, Wilde,” Zolf managed intelligently. If he had been less irritated, he might have had some feelings about the way Wilde’s eyes lit up for just a brief moment.

“You want to do it now?” Oscar said instead of torturing him any longer.

“Oh- no, eat your dinner first, we can do it tomorrow.”

“Trying to keep my energy up?” Wilde smirked slightly.

“Yes,” he replied. Wilde gave him a look, the sort he gave him when he was trying to figure out something. Zolf frowned. “I don’t want you to keel over, you idiot, you’ll work yourself to death.”

Wilde just nodded. “Good night, Mr Smith.”

“’Night Wilde.”

The next time Zolf entered Wilde’s room, it looked suspiciously tidier than normal. Oscar himself was sitting at his desk as usual, but the paperwork was in neat piles and the bottle of hair dye was next to his elbow. Zolf let himself watch for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Ah, Zolf,” said Oscar. He was definitely smiling as he looked over at Zolf, “You’re ready?”

“You’ll have to tell me what I’m doing I’ve never done this before,” he replied as he made his way over to him to pick up the bottle.

“Of course,” Oscar smiled, “where do you want me?”

Zolf considered this for a second. “On the floor?” Wilde raised an eyebrow, so he explained, “I don’t think I’ll be able to reach if you’re on the chair.” He said nothing, but smirked a little, folding his legs under him as he positioned himself on the floorboards. “Are you comfortable there, would you like a cushion or something? You’ll kill your knees like that-”

Wilde tilted his head and did his best not to keep smirking. “So attentive, Mr Smith, that would be lov- oof,” Zolf chucked a pillow at his head and grinned, which did shut him up pretty effectively.

“So, what, I just put this on your hair? Will it stain my hands?”

“Essentially, yes. Try and do it methodically from the bottom up, so you don’t miss any. And no, it’s only meant for hair, it’ll come off your skin easily.”

“Right. Are you-” As he began speaking, Wilde pulled his shirt off over his head. “Are you ready?” Zolf stood behind him and watched his head nod once firmly from the back. He poured some of the liquid into his hand. It was cold, so he rubbed it between his fingers to warm it for a second before running them through Wilde’s hair without a thought.

It took immense physical effort not to sigh. The hair wasn’t very soft, but it was thick, and it made him want to just grab a handful to feel the texture. The warmth that radiated from Wilde’s head was incredibly soothing for some reason, and he could smell the soap he used. Zolf wasn’t sure what it reminded him of, but he liked it. He pushed that thought away.

He removed his hands as if this wasn’t the case, and scraped Wilde’s hair up and tied it on top of his head, letting the shortest parts fall down and he set to smoothing the dye through the section that was loose. He squeezed his eyes shut and pretended that this wasn’t the most physical contact he’d had in a very long time, and did his best not to touch the skin because if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull back again, which… was a problem? The fumes must have been getting to him because just… holding onto Wilde’s hair with both hands was beginning to seem like a very good idea.

Zolf kept going methodically through small sections in order to distract himself from Oscar’s… everything, apparently _(get a hold of yourself, man),_ and shook his head.

He noticed absently that Wilde (because calling him Oscar was very dangerous right now) was uncharacteristically quiet, his breathing slow, and as Zolf made his way carefully to peer at his face. His eyes were closed, he looked… peaceful. Zolf allowed himself a calm moment to watch and comb his fingers through Wilde’s hair and it was nice. It was really nice. He was almost finished, and he poured the last of the bottle’s contents into his hands, working it gently into the roots, when he heard a small, seemingly involuntary sigh escape from Wilde’s lips. They both froze, Wilde’s eyes snapping open. Zolf cleared his throat after a moment realising he didn’t actually have any more to do.

“I, uh- I’m done now, so you um, you can just… Well I s’pose I’ll-” he gestured towards the door stiffly and then looked at his hands, still covered in the dark liquid.

“I’ll get the doors for you, if you want to wash your hands?” Wilde offered, not meeting his eyes. Zolf responded with a light smile. When he was finished washing the dye off, he turned to Wilde to… say goodbye? Remind him to drink some water? He wasn’t sure, because before he could do so, he was already gone, and instead Zolf walked back to his room alone, feeling just as antsy as he had before and forced himself to try and focus on his paperwork. It didn’t work, but he was probably just tired.

It wasn’t until about half an hour later that he heard Wilde’s familiar footfalls outside his door. He crossed the room and swung the door open immediately to reveal the man himself a few feet away, his hair still wet and saturated with dye.

“Wilde!” he called after him, “What are you doing?”

He spun around as if he hadn’t heard the door opening. “Oh, Mr Smith, I was just- on my way to rinse this off, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Right-” Zolf raised an eyebrow. “Did you want a hand?” he offered automatically. He didn’t even question why, he just… liked helping him where he could. It felt right. 

Wilde seemed to disagree, however- “No, no, don’t trouble yourself-”

“Wilde,” he interrupted, giving him his best ‘Stop being a stubborn bastard’ look. 

“I said it was fine,” he said, not unkindly, but walked briskly away down the hallway, leaving Zolf blinking after him.

He didn’t see Wilde again at dinner. That wasn’t particularly unusual, but with how closed off he’d seemed earlier, Zolf was loathe to interrupt him again. He paced up and down outside the door that led to Wilde’s corridor, and was just about to walk away (he _was_ ) when the door opened.

“Were you just planning to wear out the floorboards, or are you going to come in?”

Zolf stared up at Wilde. “Brought you some food,” he said by way of explanation.

The corner of Oscar’s mouth twitched, but not in his usual smirk and he said, softly, “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Yeah, well…” Zolf shrugged. It was at that point he realised that Wilde’s hair was still its usual soft brown colour- “Oh. Your hair’s the same,” he said intelligently.

Oscar did smirk then, before ducking his head, his hair falling into his face slightly. It did look softer, now Zolf thought about it, and was a dangerous thought to be indulging. Slowly, something clicked into place, “… Wait- That’s not… That’s not your natural colour? You’ve been dyeing your hair this wh-”

He was interrupted by Wilde’s hand over his mouth, “Shh!” Zolf blinked. _Why did every conversation he had with the man have to involve staring dumbly up at him?_ Wilde looked around quickly, ushered Zolf into his room, stared back at him with a serious look on his face to rival any he’d been given during his many week-long quarantines, and in a stage whisper, finished, “Carter _cannot know._ ”

When Zolf looked at him this time, it was in utter disbelief. He grinned. “Oscar- don’t take this the wrong way… but you’re probably one of the vainest men I’ve ever met, do you really think he’d care? We all know you’d be prestidigitating if you could, how is this different?”

Wilde’s face flitted through several expressions, seemingly unable to decide on one, but Zolf saw genuine hurt for just a moment and that was enough to let the guilt seep in. He opened his mouth but elected to close it again before he managed to put his foot any further in, and mercifully Wilde spoke before he could reconsider, “I don’t have to spend money to prestidigitate; it’s not a frivolous expense and- and more than that… it wouldn’t have put you in danger.” He sighed and sat on the edge of his bed, not meeting Zolf’s eyes.

Zolf sighed too, but after placing the plate of food on top of a precarious stack of papers on the desk (Wilde looked up, “-No, don’t put-”), dragged Wilde’s chair loudly across the floor towards the bed (“-What are you-? Stop- no, Zolf- the floor!”) and sat down opposite him. “That’s enough of that.”

It was Wilde’s turn to stare, “Enough of what, me worrying about how many of those documents will be ruined if food is spilled on them? The state of the floorboards- look at that, Zolf,” he pointed at the very old and thoroughly scuffed floor indignantly. Zolf looked where he pointed and then back at him and raised an eyebrow. And Wilde _pouted._ Zolf couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Yes, yes, alright, point taken…” He gave Zolf a lopsided smile. “I know what you’re doing, you know.”

“I could’ve just said no.” Zolf leaned back in the chair. “You didn’t order me to go, you asked me _as a favour_ , and I decided _on my own_ , that it didn’t pose a significant risk. You used your own money, because you felt that that was important to you. I buy bloody Campbell novels, you can’t tell me that’s not a frivolous expense, but we do it because we deserve to make our lives a little bit less miserable now and again.” Oscar opened his mouth to interrupt- “Yes, two weeks quarantine back-to-back is not something I look forward to trying again, but- okay, did you like it? Doing your hair?”

He shrugged noncommittally, but when Zolf fixed him with a stern look, he tilted his head. “I did,” he admitted.

“Then it was worth it.” Zolf looked down at his hands, adding quickly, “And for the record, I did too.” He looked back up to find Oscar watching him strangely and his eyes flicked to his still-the-same-colour-but-nonetheless-very-soft-looking hair.

“You can touch it if you like.”

“Oh.” he wasn’t sure he managed to keep his voice passive, but his eyes were now locked to the way Oscar’s hair fell and definitely failed in his attempt not to imagine how it would feel under his fingertips. “Really?”

He nodded and Zolf wasted no time in standing up and reaching forward to stroke back the hair that had ended up across his forehead.

It wasn’t as long as it had been when they first met, or as dark for that matter, now he thought about it, but he was right. It felt good.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me writing 2.5k before checking what colour oscar wilde’s hair actually was. I found out that he did actually dye his hair though, which I didn’t know until I was nearly finished writing this, so it’s just a happy coincidence. he was also apparently allergic to an ingredient in the dye, but still used it, which, i mean. Fair honestly. I do know pathfinder has hair dye, but I didn’t like it, so I just did this bc if I lived in a world with magic, I would hope that someone would invent dye that worked like this.
> 
> (my tumblr is @big-urchin-energy, do with that what you will)


End file.
